A Bunny Made Me Do It
by kamelion
Summary: Take a bizzare trip into the unknown. Or at least trip. John and Rodney come across some complications while rescuing Lorne. Includes angst.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - If you find that this story makes sense, then you are crazier than it is. Congratulations.

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The puddlejumper would have hummed happily through space, if sounds in space were possible. It was a perky little ship, looking more like an intergalactic fun ride than a serious spacecraft. Rodney often likened it to a crushed soda can, but was careful not to do so while he was in it; he saw no reason to tempt fate, his own personal belief notwithstanding. "How much longer, Colonel?"

"You sound like a damn kid." John smirked and leaned back, tapping a lit button on the panel beside him. "Not far now."

"Good. Cause I, uh. . ." Rodney grimaced and wriggled uncomfortably in the co-pilot's seat.

"What?"

Rodney sent him a poisoned look. "Don't make me say it. You know."

John slowly turned a look of disbelief to his companion. "Didn't you go before we left?"

"I was rushed! I had a lot of coffee! So sue me!"

"Unbelievable. A self-proclaimed and half-proven genius in two galaxies . . ." John shook his head and changed the screen before them. A graph appeared, just masking the stars that seemed to whiz by, yet didn't. "'Bout ten minutes time."

"Thank god. And what do you mean, half-proven?"

"Nothing. I'll make sure to ask where the nearest porta-potty is when we land."

"What?"

John sighed and relinquished the controls, pushing back the pilot's seat. There was something about flying with Rodney that made time stand still. It was never in a good way. "Here, you take over. I'm gonna get the packs ready."

Rodney balked, his grip on the arms of his chair tightening. "I thought we established that I can't fly this thing!"

"It's on auto-pilot! Just watch over things for a second, will ya?"

"Fine." Rodney swallowed and put shaky hands on the controls. He swallowed hard again, picturing the craft trembling under his touch. Of course other things made objects tremble, not just fear. Extreme pleasure, for instance. Maybe if he pretended the craft was turned on by his touch, obeying his every whim out of an intense desire to please him, maybe they wouldn't crash and die. He breathed slowly, rubbing his thumb over the side of the joystick to his right while trying to forget why the flight control had such a name. It wasn't right to think about seductively guiding a ship while rubbing a . . .okay, enough of that. Visibly giving his head a shake, he refocused his thoughts.

The planet loomed before them, dusty and puckered. "Looks like a dried apricot," Rodney mumbled.

John glanced out of the front window as he stuffed small rations into his vest pocket. "A bit, yeah." He retreated to the rear cabin.

Rodney nodded and concentrated on his task of not crashing into the small debris that always seemed to orbit the planets. It grew larger and larger before him, and did so alarmingly quickly. He gave a quick, uncertain glance over his shoulder. "You don't actually expect me to land this thing, do you?" he called out.

"Are you serious?"

"Then I suggest you get your ass up here." The planet's size was still increasing rapidly, and he wasn't going to be the one in the front of the jumper when they hit.

John looked up, cursed, and dove into his seat, grabbing the controls. "What the hell did you do?"

Rodney's hands flew up defensively. "Nothing! Well, I mean I might have elbowed that lever, but I put it back . . ."

"Oh, for. . .hold on!"

The planet spread out before them. It wasn't completely round, more like a cratered moon than anything, except there weren't any craters. It just looked like there _should_ be craters, since it wasn't very round. Apricots were pitted, right?

John grimaced as he fought the controls. "You got anything back there?"

Rodney had sat in one of the rear chairs. He spun to face one of the many controls to his right. "There is an extreme gravitational pull, much more than you'd expect from a planet this size." He frowned. "That explains the wrinkles in the surface area, it almost looks like the planet is . . . pulling itself into itself." He faced the view screen with a puzzled expression.

"And this is where Lorne is?"

Rodney ignored the question. "I'm showing signs of another energy source enveloping the planet. It's possible they have some sort of stabilizer going on, so hopefully we can expect the gravity to be more normal on the surface."

"Is that the only thing holding this planet together?"

"Not very reassuring, is it?"

"How the hell did he end up down here?"

Rodney looked back at the viewscreen as the planet's surface yawned nastily at them. "Elizabeth said he was sold, or traded or something, and brought here with his team."

"So much for just going out to get rice."

"Yeah, well, apparently their rice comes at a high cost."

"And?"

"And what? That's all I know. Actually, I'm betting she told you more than me, which while insulting, would be more likely than her telling me anything useful." He eyed the empty craft. "And why are there just two of us, anyway?"

"Because this is a rather delicate rescue mission. There are three teams ready for deployment at my word, but first we need to find out exactly where on this pit Lorne and his team are being held."

Rodney glared. "She did tell you more than me, didn't she?"

John spared him a glance. "Like you'd be interested in the rescue part?"

"Please! If my life is going to be on the line, you better believe I'm interested!"

"We're just scoping the place out! Nothing to tell!"

"S'okay. I'm used to it." Rodney sighed and leaned back as the jumper adjusted to the increased gravitational pull. "I'm nothing more than a glorified electrician anyway."

John touched a few panels. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, come on! It's 'fix this' and 'try this' and 'Dr. McKay, see if you can figure out what this does'. Never mind I have important work of my own to do. I have monkeys that can do this other crap, but no, as is usually the case in my life, the crap gets piled on me. And, as usual, it's the monkeys that throw it."

"Have you ever stopped to consider that you get this 'crap' because you are the one person intelligent enough to deal with it and solve problems quickly?"

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Rodney sat forward slightly. "Wait, we're gonna crash and die, aren't we?"

"I'm simply offering a gesture of support."

Rodney pursed his lips. "It's true, though, what you just said. But it still doesn't explain why I'm on this mission and not Ronon or someone with eighty lethal weapons hidden in their hair."

John leaned instinctively as the craft curved to the right. "He's on standby. And I'm hoping not to kill anyone."

"Lorne and his team are being held prisoner and you're hoping not to kill anyone?"

John huffed. "I never hope to kill anyone, Rodney, where the hell'd you get that idea? Besides, we don't know that he's a prisoner. And if he is, I'll call in reinforcements."

"And _I'll _have to kill someone." Rodney leaned back, defeated.

"You've killed wraith."

"That's different."

"You're such a pessimist."

"Whereas the thought of killing someone is obviously such an optimistic affair!"

Brilliance, ten. Practical sense, three. "Don't go there, McKay." John's voice took on a dangerous edge, and Rodney reluctantly backed off.

The jumper landed with little complications amidst a curtain of sand which rose and settled over the craft.

Both men sat quietly for a moment, waiting to feel the effects of the strange planet. They looked at each other apprehensively when nothing happened. "Gravity seems normal, guess you were right about that stabilizer."

"Unless the cabin has been automatically pressurized to compensate."

"Either way, we're here. Let's get ready." John threw the level which he had come to think of as an emergency brake, and pushed out of his seat. He gathered their supplies.

Rodney stood quickly. "Wait, we need pressure suits or something."

"That or you can take a reading and see what the conditions are outside."

Bashful hesitation. "Yeah, I can do that." He leaned over his console. "Hm. Seems normal enough. Guess there's no getting out of this."

"Don't you want Lorne back?"

"Sure. I just want Ronon to do it."

John said nothing, just tossed Rodney his pack.

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There was no need to disguise the jumper, the sand had taken care of that. Lorne's abandoned jumper was right where it should be, and the contact that had informed them of the mishap had carefully laid supplied within on the bench; two robes, two pairs of shoes, and a pair of . . .

Rodney's incredulous look beat, well, any incredulous look he'd ever had before as John explained the plan. His eyes were comically wide, his mouth trying to form a perfect 'o' around words that had yet to announce themselves. John merely stood there, his arms folded across his chest, his smirk showing that he was enjoying his friend's reaction maybe a little too much.

"You-you want me to what?" Rodney's voice found itself in stuttered speech.

"Oh, come on. You've seen Star Wars."

"But a bounty?"

"Why not?"

"That is a movie, Colonel! Don't tell me you're one of those that can't tell science fiction from science fact!"

"And this coming from someone who currently lives on what amounts to a water-logged spaceship. . ."

"Okay, okay, I get the point! And hey," he snatched up the robe, "I got the pumps working, didn't I?" His response was a raised brow. "Oh, come on! Give a guy some credit! I was soaked through, no telling what evil contaminants I could have . . ." Rodney continued in a more subdued tone, "oh, uh right. Sorry about your stuff. I didn't know it was in storage on that level."

"And if you had, you would have worked faster, huh?"

"That wasn't possible."

"Oh, it's no problem, believe me. It was only everything of value that I decided to bring back with me, seeing as how we have more storage space now. . ."

Rodney reddened. "Okay, okay, fine! How many times do I have to apologize?"

"They were my comics, McKay!"

"I said, I'm sorry!"

John's petulant look faded into a grimace as he turned to the table and looked at the supplies. "Yeah, well, anyway. . .this is the only way we can get into the city and find Lorne."

"I'm not wearing this stuff."

John shrugged and picked up the shackles.

Rodney blanched slightly at the glint of metal. "Look, why does it have to be me? Why not you?"

John took a step forward. "Because, I am the military leader. Because," he signaled for Rodney to turn, "I have the presence of mind to cope with any situation that may arise. And because," he clamped Rodney's wrists firmly behind his back, "you ruined Superman."

"The Punisher was relatively unharmed," Rodney muttered.

John gave the shackles a hard tug. "Spiderman. First edition. . ."

"I get it!"

John merely nodded and backed off, regarding his handiwork. "How's it feel?"

"You want to find out?" Rodney gritted over his shoulder.

"Seriously. Did I get them too tight?"

This time Rodney turned. "Would you care?"

John glared. "No!"

"They're fine!"

"Good!" John snatched up a dark brown robe. He shrugged into it, still glaring at Rodney, and pulled the large hood over his head.

Rodney sulked. The situation was ridiculous; he was filthy, sore, and needed to eat. Sleep would be good. Returning to Atlantis would be better. Getting back to Earth and forgetting the Pegasus galaxy ever existed was tempting. He watched sullenly as Sheppard prepared. "Bounty?" His voice was less sure of itself.

"Relax, McKay. Quick in and out."

"Then why can't you do it? I can stay here and. . ."

"Because, this is the only way in. I've told you that."

"The only quick way in, you mean."

"Quick is good."

But Rodney pressed. "Then why not take one of the soldiers? Why me?"

John opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned away and stuffed small weapons into his belt.

Rodney rolled his eyes with a laugh. "You really are pissed at me, aren't you? You're actually enjoying this."

Well, John was. But that wasn't the reason. "Because we're used to working together, okay? And, on occasion. . . I guess we work _well_ together."

Rodney blinked.

John wasn't feeding him any more lines. "You ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Then let's go." John's expression was pointed as he picked up his P90 and took McKay by the elbow. But rather than forcing him along, he gently guided him out of the door of the small abandoned hut, and towards the main town.

Large tents bordered the entrance. They flapped in the winds, each covered in a think layer of sand, almost blending into the bland scenery. The man at the gate was wrapped head to toe in bands of fabric, making him appear much larger than he was. His face was grimy and fat, his eyes hidden within folds of skin. What hair was visible was thin and white. "Name."

Rodney stared at the sand blowing over his shoes, and prayed Sheppard wasn't about to say, "Boba Fett".

"Samuel Granger." He even lowered his voice a notch. It was the most ridiculous role play Rodney had ever heard, and he looked up, wishing he hadn't as grit found his eyes.

"Cargo?"

"Just this." John prodded Rodney in the side, forcing him to take a step forward. Rodney winced at the man, trying to keep a level gaze with him. Fine. He would play the prisoner, but he'd be damned if he would act submissive.

The man grunted and stood from his stool. He looked McKay up and down, slowly walking around them. "What's his price?"

"Fifty."

The man laughed, and Rodney felt his face burn.

"Fifty? For this?" He laughed again, then spat on Rodney's shoe.

Rodney just closed his eyes.

"You got a price?" John asked.

"Fifteen."

This time John laughed, taking the time to survey the area as he did so. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Fifteen."

"I can get at least seventy-five on the range, and you quote fifteen at me?"

"Then take him where you can get seventy-five." The man sat, obviously not hurting for business.

Rodney turned so that he faced away from the man, and leaned towards John discreetly. "This is what you call bartering?" he muttered through tight lips.

"I didn't expect him to go so low!"

"While I treasure the fact that you hold me in such esteem, this price is not going to get us to Lorne. I suggest you do something about it while I still have feeling left in my extremities!"

John took a steadying breath and studied the large man, who was making a good show of doing nothing. "Of course," he said nonchalantly, "the fact that he has a price on his head would mean nothing. Probably just as well, less trouble that way."

The man looked up suspiciously. "What're you on about?"

"Well, I mean some people can take the heat, and frankly I have too much on me. Need to ditch this lot."

If the fat man's eyes could be seen, they would be wincing in confusion. "Heat for what?"

John put a chagrined look on his face, and leaned in. "The cargo. Need to ditch the cargo."

"For fifteen, you can leave him here."

"No, no, see. . .it's not just that. I mean you look at him and," he laughed, "yeah," ignored Rodney's glare, "but it's what's inside that matters."

"And what's inside?" the man asked, his voice lowering like John's.

John leaned in. "Treasure," he said in a stage whisper.

Rodney rolled his eyes.

"His brain," John continued, "well, let's just say. . .it's. . ." he held his hands apart for size as he struggled for words, "many people want this. The Wraith want this."

"Wraith?"

"Oh yeah! That's the trouble. I can't afford them following me, can I? And this guy has intel about the ancient race."

"That's a myth," the man said in disbelief.

John concealed his surprise well. "Oh, you think so? Then explain this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crystal, a burnt one, used in the distribution coils.

The man studied it. "What of it?"

"It's a beacon." He paused dramatically. "For Them."

"Oh my god," Rodney groaned under his breath.

"Them?" The man frowned, eyeing John, and took the crystal in his hand, weighing it. "It's used up."

"It can be powered up. You really think I'd carry a charged crystal with me?"

The man frowned.

"Look, what's your name?"

"Edmun."

"Edmun. Would this be worth seventy-five to you, Edmun?"

"If the Wraith want him, give him to them. You can't bring the Wraith here."

John just smiled and snatched the crystal away, clutching it tightly. "But you see, I _can_ bring the Wraith here. They want him. I need him gone. Now you can get a pretty penny for his talents, and I dare say the price I'm asking is a fair one." He toyed with the crystal.

The man eyed it nervously. "Sixty. It's as high as I can go."

"Seventy-five."

"Sixty-five."

"Seventy. . .five." John locked gazes.

The man nodded and tagged Rodney. Then he took the crystal.


	2. Chapter 2

The interior of the town was surprisingly open. The front panels of the tents slapped about in the wind. Further in, brown buildings blended in with the dust. Odd languages soared overhead, mixing with their own. They passed a rather well-dressed woman berating a somber man, and exchanged a glance with each other that said he would be sleeping on the proverbial couch that night.

The verbiage snapped over them, creating a cacophony of noise that attempted to shroud their words. "I can't believe you did that," Rodney complained, his voice raised. "I can't believe you got away with that. I'm not even sure what you said! What's that money worth, anyway?"

"Hopefully a room and some food." John led Rodney to a line of people, then changed his mind and led Rodney in another direction.

"Yeah, okay, look. . .we're in. Now let's find a nice little hole and you can get these things off my wrists and we can call it a day, huh?" He aimed his back toward John and stuck out his wrists hopefully.

"Not yet. People are watching. This place has guards. We have to play by the rules just a little longer."

"Are you serious?" Rodney snapped.

John didn't answer.

"You're serious! You're fucking serious!"

"Relax, McKay."

"You relax! What the. . ." he straightened up as a tall man approached them. His beady eyes glanced up and down McKay's body, making the scientist flinch.

"You sellin'?"

Rodney opened his mouth, but John beat him to it. "I thought I just paid the man at the gate."

"Entrance fee only." He smiled, showing rotten teeth and releasing breath that would knock buffalos over.

"Ah." John said, embarrassed that he apparently didn't know the rules of the game as well as he thought. He avoided McKay's glare. "I knew that."

"You sellin'?" Tall Man was eyeing the odd tag attached to Rodney's shirt.

"Actually, I'm thinking off taking this one off the market." He started to pull Rodney backward, and was stopped by a tap on the shoulder. Tall Man held something that looked a lot like a riding crop.

"No retractions. You bring to sell, you sell."

". . .right." This wasn't exactly going as planned. He hadn't intended to go this far, truth be told was trying to avoid the crowded arena where he saw people lined up, being examined like cattle. The idea had been to skirt the place, looking like he was headed wherever he was supposed to be headed. And then, his plan had been to find a hole, release McKay, and hunt down Lorne.

Of course, plans had a way of changing. Quickly.

Two men appeared behind them and grabbed Rodney's arms, pulling him from John who yelled out in protest. Another man blocked his path, and he craned his neck round to see Rodney being led to the platform with the others. "This part of the plan, Colonel?" he called out angrily.

No, not really.

"You," Tall Man said, "buy him back. You brought him to sell, then you don't want to sell. So buy him back."

"Look, I can't. . ."

"Why did you come here?" He stepped close, his breath heavy and vile.

John held his breath and stepped back. "I'm. . .looking for someone."

He fully expected to hear a voice grovel out, "found someone, you have" and briefly wondered about his current fixation. The man merely nodded to where Rodney stood in the distance, glowering at him.

"You buy him back."

John weighed his options. Hard to do on a one-sided scale. "Fine. When's the auction?"

"That line goes," Tall Man pointed, "then that one." He pointed again. "He'll be at the end."

"I'll just wait here then." Again he locked gazes until the other man huffed and backed away.

Nope. Not according to plan at all.

The first line went through disturbingly quickly. All the prisoners/slaves/he wasn't sure what to call them, were bare-chested, their hands secured either in front of or behind them. Their heads were lowered; they looked beaten before the play had begun. All were brown-skinned. He knew Rodney's pale contrast probably would work in his favor.

What he hadn't counted on was the proud, defiant tilt of Rodney's head as he was marched onto the platform, approximately half an hour later. John felt an odd surge of pride cover his anxiety, and started to push his way through the crowd that had gathered to see the new arrival. Rodney's shirt was ripped from him, and his skin practically glowed. But that wasn't the only thing. Even from a distance, John could feel the power emanating from the man. The firm chin was raised and daring. He was pissed, and it showed, and the people loved it.

John lurched forward, holding up his bag of coins. "Seventy-five!" he yelled out. "Seventy-five, going once . . ." he heard Rodney hiss at him, and flung the bag at the auctioneer. "There. You can count it." The men before Rodney had gone out at no more than twenty. He was confident that seventy five would cinch the deal. Look at that blazing white skin after all, there was no way he could work on a planet such as this. Who'd want him?

"Eighty!" A voice spoke, and John spun. He spun back to meet Rodney's concerned gaze.

_Do something_, the man mouthed.

"Uh . . .eighty-five." John wasn't as certain anymore.

"Ninety!"

Enough. John turned, freeing his handgun from the strap on his belt, and aimed. "Ninety-five," he said firmly.

The other man nodded and backed off.

"Ninety-five going once . . . twice . . . SOLD for ninety-five." The auctioneer jerked his head and a man escorted Rodney from the stage, shoving him at John. John caught Rodney and steadied him.

"Don't think I owe you any favors," Rodney muttered angrily.

"Come on, you're my property now."

Rodney fumed. "You could've started at fifteen, you know," he muttered as John worried at the cuffs. "You spent all of our money! And then some!"

"How'd I know you would be that marketable?"

"You mean how'd _I _know you wouldn't just run off with the money and save Lorne yourself! Then you'd have me to rescue as well!"

"True. I could've bid the guy up and come back for you in a jumper. Still tempting, so keep your mouth shut."

Rodney fumed. "Where are we going to get the extra twenty?"

"Don't know." John pulled the cuffs away and smiled disarmingly at the auctioneer as he tucked them into his belt. "I don't even know where to pay."

"Probably over there at that seven foot four wall of flesh and muscle that's staring at you."

John turned to his left. A man was frowning at them, holding what looked like a notebook. He didn't look happy.

"You know," said Rodney thoughtfully while rubbing his wrists, "a waiter can always tell when he's about to be gypped. The people walk into the restaurant with this aura about them, and he knows he's either screwed, or he's about to dish out a free meal."

"I'm not screwed."

"Then try a table dance. Better chance of getting the money that way than pulling it out of your ass. Either way, I doubt they're gonna let me leave without you paying."

"Looks like you're stuck here for a while, then." He shrugged off Rodney's sudden glare. "I'm serious! I've got nothing."

"Don't suppose they have dishes around here to wash."

"Nope."

"Rocks to shatter?"

"Doubt it."

"I'm so screwed."

"Look," John reached out and grabbed Rodney by the arms, pushing him back against a stone wall. "Sit. I'll go back to the jumper, see if there's something to sell."

"Like what? MRE's?"

John suddenly smiled.

Rodney sank to the ground. "Three degrees and I still don't know when to shut up," he sighed.

He wasn't any happier that evening when the colonel finally returned. "Let's go," John said, rather cheerfully.

"Which ones?" Rodney asked miserably.

"Chicken and noodles, meatloaf, beef stew, and your jar of peanut butter."

Rodney hurried to catch up with him. "Are you completely deranged? Do you have any idea how long it took to have that okay'd through Caldwell? No personal food stock, he says, it all has to be stored in the kitchens. Bullshit. I had to go debug his personal laptop as payment, and you do NOT want to know what that man keeps on his machine."

"You could stay here," John said calmly.

Rodney huffed. "What did you get for it?"

"Enough for room and board for three nights. Food included."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope."

"You didn't tell them it was food, did you?"

John smiled. "Nope." And he kept walking.

"I'm not asking, I'm not asking, I don't want to know because it'll get me killed . . ." Rodney followed.

"Besides, we gotta get you a shirt, and that takes money." He frowned at the reddened shoulders. "Seems you'd have sense enough to stay out of the sun."

"It was fine the first, oh let's see, _two hours _you were gone! But the sun moved, and I couldn't."

"They thought you'd run?"

"Of course."

"And I think you'll find that the planet moved, not the sun."

"Shut up."

John ignored him, but felt bad for him just the same. He pointed to a large building in the distance which looked more like a pile of dangerously stacked rubble. "There we are."

Rodney balked. "That's it?"

"Looks like."

"Can't we camp out in the jumper?"

"Kinda hard to find Lorne if were hiding."

"Scanner sweep."

"Been there, remember?"

"Adjust it."

"For what? To pick up a cute brunette?"

"As flattered as I'm sure he'll be by the comment, I was actually talking about calibrating it so that it picks up any evidence of an ATA gene."

John stared. "And you're thinking about this now?"

"Sorry." Rodney's face fell slightly. "Just occurred to me."

"Must be comic book guilt," John sighed. They stopped at the stairs leading to the small porch. "We're here now, let's at least get some rest. Can't head back out tonight anyway, no moon. Wouldn't be able to see a thing, and I'm not about to show our flashlights, or we'll end up selling those too."

"Agreed," Rodney sighed. But he hesitated outside the door.

"What?" John stuck his head back out, and frowned. "Oh. Shirt. Right."

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At least the bed was comfortable. More so than the tiny, itchy white shirt Rodney was forced to wear. The only problem was, the bed was either made for an infant or a newly married couple. Seeing as how they were neither, they lay side by side stiffly.

"Nice place," Rodney said sarcastically.

"Bit close."

"Bet if you sold your chocolate bar we could've had two beds."

"Can it, McKay."

The knock on the door prevented further conversation. It was followed by a startled Rodney landing on the floor as John jumped up, neither wanting to be caught in their unique position. The door opened, and a man peered in. "Hello?"

John wiped his hands on the back of his pants self-consciously as he pulled himself together. His instinct jumped to military defense mode. "Hello."

The man nodded and looked down expectantly at Rodney, who looked back at him from the floor. "Hi."

"Can we help you?" John pushed.

"What? Oh, yes, yes." He walked in and closed the door behind him. "I believe you might be looking for someone. Four men, actually."

"What makes you say that?" John asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I overheard you talking, and he," the man gestured to Rodney, still on the floor, "called you Sheppard. The other man referred to a Sheppard, so I assume you are the same. It is an unusual name."

John took a few steps forward, cautiously regarding the new arrival. "You've seen them?"

"I have."

There was a hesitation. When no more information came, John asked testily, "Then where are they?"

"Sold. Not easy to get them out."

"All of them? All are in the same place?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

The man was backing toward the door as Rodney slowly rose to his feet. "I can not," he said weakly. "I can tell you where to find them, but I"m not going there myself."

"Why not?"

"I'd rather not say. You will be here in the morning?"

"Yes, if need be."

"I will have instructions. Do not leave until we talk again." And the man walked out.

Rodney sighed and climbed back into bed. "Terrific. We've graduated from Star Wars to James Bond. I think I know what to name this planet now."

"What's that?"

"Saturn," Rodney responded, pulling the thin covers over him.

"Why the hell. . ."

"The awards, you ass, since all the drama seems to play in real life out here."

"There's already a planet Saturn. Can't have two."

"Not in this galaxy."

"Oscar."

"What?"

"Oscar. You know, our version of the movie awards thing. Planet Oscar."

"And you said Ford couldn't name anything. Though I can imagine this planet stuck in a garbage can."

"Good night, Rodney."

Rodney sneered. "Good night, John-Boy. And do me a favor."

"What?"

"Keep your socks on."


	3. Chapter 3

The morning dawned suddenly, and loudly. Rodney bolted upright at the odd sound of a _thwaang_ against the door. He moaned and practically fell out of the bed, and shuffled carefully across the uneven floor. The door opened to reveal a knife embedded in the rough wood. There was a message fixed to it. Rodney couldn't remove the knife, so he tore off the message and shut the door. "We've got mail." He let the absurdity of the situation pass over him. Preservation of sanity and all that.

John rolled over sleepily. "Morning honey."

"Don't start." Rodney was frowning at the unfolded sheet in his hand.

John rose slowly and stretched. "What's it say?"

"No clue." Rodney's head snapped up, and he thrust the paper at John before walking to the window. "Wonder if this place has coffee." A thought occurred to him, a sort of tugged-at memory, and he went back to the door, opened it, and looked down. He returned carrying a breakfast tray.

John was sitting on the bed. "Doesn't look too bad, really. I mean, insofar as raiding a palace goes."

"Pl'ce?" Rodney mumbled around a mouth full of . . .something sweet. "How big?"

"Big enough."

He swallowed as he raised his cup. "What are they doing there?" The drink was rancid, but had a kick to it.

"Don't know. Doesn't say."

"Figures. How do we know where in the palace to look?"

"Could be here." John flipped the map around and pointed to a large "X".

Rodney chewed as he leaned in to examine the mark. "You know, pretty soon I'm going to get very weirded out about this place."

"You mean how everything sets up to be so difficult, then turns out to be too easy?"

"Yeah."

"I think you'll find," said a voice from the door, "that most beings set things up to be difficult when in fact they are very easy to accomplish."

Both men had spun as one. The man who had visited them the previous night was standing there.

"Can't you knock?" Rodney gasped. "You did last night!"

"And ruin a dramatic entrance? Destroy a perfect setup? Nah." He walked in, pulling his long coat around him.

"Sound like maybe you don't believe what you just said," John said, the remark about a dramatic entrance stuck in his mind.

"That dribble? Nah. And thank you for ruining the moment as well." The man soured, and snatched the map away to look at it. "This, is in fact, exceedingly difficult."

"Look, who are you?" John asked.

The man wiped his hand on his pants and held it out. "Alistar Lumley, at your service."

John took the hand, noticing how firm the grip was, like a salesman. "Colonel John Sheppard," he pointed, "Dr. Rodney McKay." Rodney pulled his posture up proud, his chin raised, like the reminder that he was in fact a doctor of physics had some sort of hold over his self-esteem. Which it had, actually.

"Pleased to meet you both." The man sat on the bed. "So, which planet are you from?"

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"What makes you think we aren't from around here?" Rodney seemed disappointed that their ruse didn't work.

"As I said, I've talked to your men."

John winced, hoping Lorne wasn't too forthcoming. "I see. And you're going to help us?"

"I already said, I'm not going near the place. But I'll take you to the area."

Rodney was puzzling over something. "Look, why didn't you just bring us this map yourself instead of fixing it to the door with a knife?"

"I had to throw it from below. It was the only way to get it up there, you ever try just throwing a paper from the bottom of the stairs to a door on a landing? You need a counterweight."

John smiled at the way the physicist's mouth worked before shutting completely. He turned large, distressed eyes to the colonel. "So, when do we go?" he asked weakly. The less time on this planet, the better.

"Now," Alistar replied, "if you are ready. But I wouldn't wear the robes. And you do realize that shirt is too small for you." As he spoke he removed his jacket, and pulled off his own shirt. He tossed it to Rodney, pulled a piece of material from his jacket, flapped it in the air, and pulled it on. "I always carry a spare."

"Don't suppose you could have given me the spare," Rodney muttered, putting the shirt to his nose and giving a sniff. It didn't smell bad, rather herb-like. He thrust his arms into the short sleeves, pulled the neck hole over his head, and tugged the material down over his chest and stomach. Perfect fit.

Of course it was.

John nodded in approval. "Looks better, actually."

"Feels better." Rodney rolled his shoulders. "So, we going or not?"

"Sit. Finish your food while I tell you a tale. You'll need the information before going out." They sat, each feeling like they had been thrown head first into a play, and Alistar started his story.

"First of all, you should understand that we are used to off-worlders. They don't bother us, we don't bother them, most of our trade transactions are with lesser accountable places of business. That's where we do the trade stock. Planets can't afford us, so they trade us their people. It works out rather well, really, we provide these planets with the stocks they need, such as food and spices and hardware. On a good day we trade space craft, but those days are few and far between.

"As a world's population grows, there are times when their trading resources are used up. Rather than go into debt, they trade off their people, which actually solves two problems at once. One, you have pay to service the people on your planet, and two, there are less people on the planet to service. You see? Excellent idea, really. This planet's a hub."

Rodney stared. "You trade in . . . people?"

"Very profitable. We use the stragglers from other worlds to colonize new worlds, and they are sucked into the game. We service them, we eventually get their stragglers for a price, and the cycle starts over again. With a huge profit margin, mind you."

"It's Ellis Island meets Wall Street," John muttered in amazement. "What about those people that McKay were with? Those that were tied up? If this is a fair trade, it seems you'd treat your stock with a little more care."

"Ah, but it isn't always a fair trade, nor a fair business. What business do you know of that is really fair? What of your world? Do your people deal justly and truthfully?"

" . . .no . . .not really."

"Then you understand."

" . . .no . . .not really."

Alistar sighed and leaned in. "We pull these people from the most destitute of situations. We promise them a better life. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes they don't want to leave, but they want to do right by their civilization. Sometimes they want nothing more than to destroy their civilization, which is why they were sent away, which is why they were chained. These people usually go for cheap and work in the mines, or in business retail."

Rodney pinned John with a stare. "Seventy-five," he said blankly.

"Good thing I didn't say fifteen, isn't it?" John leaned forward. "What does this have to do with my men?"

"Your men were in a holding pattern. There are two military factions that are squabbling over them, each wanting their skills. Since they are opposing tribes in a civil war, it is understandable that they each want the best, and neither are willing to negotiate."

John turned his ear slightly toward Alistar as if he hadn't heard. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. You're telling me, you've captured my men to sell them to fight in a war they have nothing to do with?"

The stranger held his hands up defensively. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the one selling. I brought you a map, see? Second, what does it matter if they have something to do with it or not? If the price is good, and it will be, there will be a sale."

"This is insane!" Rodney exploded. "You're talking about men here, not weapons!"

Alistar turned to him. "Is there a difference in war?" he asked. "Besides, it doesn't matter. Neither side has them, though they are still squabbling. No, they have another use now, and the price is much higher."

"What other use?"

Alistar merely beckoned, and they stood at the window. "Three streets down. Meet me there." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and left as suddenly as he had appeared.

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People could be seen in the far distance at the tents; lined up, heads down, hands bound. Rodney watched them from their second story window with a measure of disgust. "Seems to be a lot of discontent in the area."

"Hmm." John was sitting at the table, head propped on one hand, deep in thought.

"I mean, he said only those that want to destroy their civilization are bound. There's a lot of bound men out there."

"Hmm."

"You don't care, do you?"

"I'm surprised you do."

Rodney pressed his lips in a thin line and turned back to the view. "You pain me, you know that?"

"I live for it." John rose and joined his friend, standing shoulder to shoulder. "There are a lot of them, aren't there?"

"Wonder what their crimes are."

"No telling. Could be spitting on the sidewalk for all we know."

"Yeah, that's just it, we don't know." Rodney followed John's retreat with his eyes. "Look, let's just find Lorne and his men and get the hell outta here, huh? I've no interest in becoming somebody's bitch, and if I stick around here with you for much longer I'm not sure I'll be able to avoid the possibility."

"Last resort. You got your things?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go. We're supposed to meet Alistar in ten."

The alleyway was dark, as promised in the note, and nasty, as to be expected, and oddly crowded. Alistar met up with them quickly, and instantly pulled the two men down behind a barrel. "You came. Good."

John looked around him. "I thought this area was supposed to be secluded?"

Alistar snorted. "And they said you're a military man. Saints above. Don't you know that the first place they'll look is in a lonely, dark alley? This is the ITA. Everyone comes here."

"The what?"

"Illegal Transactions Association. Put all of us together and we look like we are going on about our own business, and we're not bothered. Stick two people in a corner and they pounce."

"Who are 'they'?"

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing." He darted his head up, and ducked back down. John noticed that while there were a lot of people in the alley, none could actually be seen. All were hidden behind barrels, with heads occasionally popping up to survey the area around them, much like a whack-a-mole game. John found that he desperately wanted a mallet.

He grabbed Alistar's arm before he could pop up again. "This isn't going to be stupidly suicidal, is it?"

The man gave him a level gaze. "If it is, you won't be alive to regret it, now will you?"

"Oh, I will SO come back to haunt your ass," Rodney muttered.

"Already been done. Let's go." Alistar jumped up and walked, whistling innocently. John and Rodney followed, trying to look as nonchalant as a bizarre situation would allow.

They passed people covered in robes, gesturing grandly. Trinkets seemed to flow through the air like wind, passing from one hand to another with astonishing speed. A gold band was passed to Alistar, who passed it to John, who jumped and passed it to Rodney like a hot potato, who gulped and handed it off to a large man behind him. The man yelled out for someone and took a silver-looking box while handing off the band.

"This where you transact business?" John yelled over the din.

"This is where we view the goods. The transactions take place over there." He pointed to a row of men dressed in black, holding clipboards and standing perfectly still.

Rodney snatched a jeweled crown off his head and passed it on. "This the way to the palace?"

"In a around about sort of way, yes."

John snatched Alistar to a standstill. "How round about?"

"Round about there." He pointed to a large hill in the distance. Atop stood a large fortress.

"Oh," Rodney said weakly. "Piece of cake."

"My suggestion," Alistar said, "would be to go to the gate with an offering." He looked at Rodney.

Who paled. "Not again."

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"They too tight?"

"Would you care?"

"No."

Rodney tested the shackles. "Why'd you keep these things anyway?"

"Thought they might come in handy."

"You have kinks I need to know about?"

"I can safely say I have kinks that you do_ not _need to know about." He turned Rodney to face him. "There you go."

"Hit him." Alistar said promptly.

Rodney jerked around. "What?"

"You have to look like you struggled, or they're never going to buy it." He looked at John. "Now hit him."

"You hit him!" John exclaimed.

And Alistar did.

Rodney coughed from his curled position on the ground.

John could only turn and put his head in his hands, doing his best to gather his thoughts.

Alistar pulled Rodney to his feet, examining the cut on his lip and the thin trail of blood that dripped from it. "Not great, but good enough I suppose." He looked at John. "Should I try it again?"

"NO!" both men yelled, and Rodney yanked away.

"Good enough it is, then." Alistar produced a pack, which he swung to John. He caught it one-handed. "Food and water. That place is further than it looks. Oh, and you'll have to hurry. If the proprietor gets too nervous, he moves it."

"How?" Rodney asked, incredulous.

"Some things are better left unseen, especially the sight of a fortress."

"You don't know, do you?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Alistar saluted the men. "Good luck. Call me if you need me. I won't come, but feel free to call anyway."

"Thanks," Sheppard muttered, and again took Rodney gently by the elbow. They headed toward the east gate, with the fortress looming in the distance.

"This sucks." Rodney shrugged off John's offer of help. "Why couldn't you have waited to cuff me?"

"In case someone is watching from above."

Rodney managed to get to his feet after another rather nasty fall. "I mean, come on. There could at least be some thunder and lightning over that thing, something to enhance the feeling of gloom and doom. I feel like I'm hiking to the Emerald City."

It did look a bit like the Emerald City. The sky had darkened to an eerie grey-ish green, and it reflected off of the gunmetal grey towers. What was left of the sunlight bounced from one tower to the other, making the building appear to glow. "Granted," Rodney continued, "it's a rather sickly Emerald City. I was hoping for a dungeon-like atmosphere. But no! Flowers! There are flowers on the path!"

"Maybe that's what they do."

"Who?"

"Lorne and their men. Maybe they're gardeners."

Rodney stopped cold. He didn't move, even when John hiked a good ten meters ahead. Twenty, and he finally looked back. "What?"

"_Gardeners_?"

"Just come on!"

They continued to walk, or in Rodney's case, trudge. The sun had long set by the time they stopped, sitting on the ground and unloading their packs. "Almost there," John said, uncapping the water bottle and holding it to Rodney's lips.

He drank gratefully, heaving a sigh as the water was pulled away. "You could uncuff me so I can eat, at least."

"Too risky."

Rodney looked up. "What, for you, me, or them?"

John glanced about. "I don't know, maybe for a moment . . ."

"No, I mean them." His eyes were fastened to the tree across from them, where three men stood.

John opened his mouth, and remembered nothing else.


	4. Chapter 4

"Could you possibly get just a little more irritating?" John grumbled.

"Trust me, I try. Anything to shut you up for a while." Rodney McKay slumped dejectedly against the pole.

"By irritating me? You think that shuts me up? That's a guaranteed way to keep me talking by telling _you_ to SHUT UP!"

"Oh, yes, a gesture which has obviously proven so effective!"

John huffed inwardly and tested his bonds. His ass was numb. He wished Rodney's tongue was as numb as his ass. "Look, could you just slide over a little? I think you're sitting on my hands."

"How could I possibly be sitting on your hands? Hey!" Rodney shifted. "Oh."

"Thanks."

"How'd it get down there?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"It's your hand! How can you not know, okaywait, there really is something you're not telling me, I should have known. There's always something, not that I care really, I mean it's your business, I just don't see why people make it a point to. . ."

"Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

"SHUT UP!"

"Remind me not to bunk up with you, all right? And I'm moving my quarters further down the hall."

"For god's sake, Rodney, where do you think your hands are?"

"Behind this pole, you. . .oh. Sorry 'bout that."

"Forget it."

The two men sat in frustrated silence.

"Stupid anyway," Rodney muttered.

"Should've known you couldn't stay quiet."

"How did we get into this? I mean, I can't recall any possible thing that was said or done in order for us to be put in this situation."

"Maybe they're just kinky."

"That is NOT funny."

"Oh, hit a nerve there, huh? Is there something about the great Rodney McKay that _I_ should know about?"

"How about a size eleven shoved up your ass?"

"If the shoe fits."

"In your case, no problem. God, my hands are going to sleep. Seems I've spent the majority of my time on this planet being tied up." Rodney tried to pull away from the narrow pole at his back, the only thing separating him from John. He tried not to move his hands much. John, however, had no qualms about moving his. "Now who's the pervert?"

"I'm trying to untie my hands! Do you mind?"

Rodney didn't answer. He just moved forward about two inches.

Silence hung in the air, longer and heavier this time. Both were worn out. Both were hungry. Both hurt. And both were equally unaware as to just how they got into their current predicament, tied back to back to a pole.

"You know," Rodney mused aloud, "it could be worse. I could be tied up with Zelenka."

"Peas in a pod, I'd say."

"You would! But no, not really. I can talk to you, he's just nothing but work work work work work."

"Yeah, by the way, really enjoying the conversation we've been having." John made an attempt to peer over his shoulder. "Very enlightening."

"Conversation? You've been telling me to shut up for the past half hour."

"And by very enlightening, I mean by counting the various way you manage to ignore a simple request!"

"Now look. . ." Rodney suddenly fell silent as a door opened and a creature walked in. "Oh, great" he muttered, "Now I know exactly where we are. We've been transported into the worst possible Doctor Who episode ever filmed."

John craned his head around, and his curious expression settled into disgust. The creature that stared at them was indescribable at best. At worst, it was no more than a thing on legs. It walked into the room, and John could see no discernable eyes, no real facial features. In fact, it looked as prosthetic as they came. He was certain that, if stabbed, it would bleed batting or spew foam. He dearly wanted to try. The creature continued to circle them, looking disturbingly like something that was stalking its prey. John could feel Rodney press against pole behind him, and could sense the large creature coming closer. He felt the other man against his shoulder blades as he tried to back away. Rodney muttered something under his breath, something like, "ohgod", which caused him to clench his jaw. He couldn't see really see behind him, but he could feel Rodney's breath quicken against his back and smell the stench as the creature leaned over him.

"Look," Rodney said nervously as he pressed against John, and John had the odd sensation of not only hearing, but feeling, his voice, "I'm sure you find us very interesting, more so than we find you, actually, but I think there are better ways of getting to know us. I mean I'm sure if you let us go we can sit and have a nice chat, cup of coffee maybe. You can show us your family tree and bore us with all sorts of grotesque family stories. Bet you have lots of those, huh? But see, like this, we have to take offense at this, you know? Can you understand that?" John felt the shoulder against his slump dejectedly. "No, I guess not."

"What are you doing?" John snapped underneath his breath.

"Trying to avoid dinner, as in being his!" John felt Rodney relax slightly as the creature walked around the men. He felt Rodney twist as he tried to follow the motions of the creature as it approached John. The major held his breath as the walking lump of stench leaned in, nothing more than a pile of sewage. Rodney was right, it did look like something out of a Doctor Who episode. Speaking of which, he needed to talk about that with him later. He hadn't known Rodney was a fan.

The creature stood and struck its chest. . .thing. . . twice, then made a noise like a grunt and walked to the door. Two humans entered, and the door slid shut. Slowly they walked towards John and Rodney. At first John was relieved to see someone who didn't look like their host, but decided upon further, and brief, reflection, that maybe they weren't a welcoming committee.

"This can't be good," he muttered.

"No, no, not really." Rodney's voice was light with apprehension. They watched warily as the men knelt down beside them and untied the odd ropes binding Rodney's wrists. He was pulled to his feet, turning instantly to look at the colonel, expecting him to be released. John frowned slightly as Rodney met his eyes, seeing the curiosity underlying his fear. One of the men took his arm and gestured at the door.

This set off John's alarm. "Hey, wait, where are you taking him?" There was no answer, of course.

Rodney glanced at John, who looked vaguely worried, and followed the men. The door locked behind them.

John cursed loudly and pulled harder at his bonds, gritting his teeth and finally smacking his head against the pole in frustration. "Ow." He sighed and closed his eyes.

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Rodney McKay didn't think himself a brave man by any means. He was paranoid about the mere thought of his demise, never mind the very real possibility. This paranoia gave him excellent instincts in self preservation, and he had an annoying feeling that what was about to happen would tamper with that very vital need to protect himself. The fact that he was taken to a room that looked disturbingly like a lab didn't help, nor did the fact that he was strapped to a long table in the center of the room. His mind toyed with the notion of escape, because surely Sheppard had found a way out of those bonds and was coming to his rescue now, right? Right? Surely they were friends enough to warrant a nick-of-time rescue. Surely John wouldn't just leave him.

Would he?

Crap.

There was a thick strap across his upper chest, and another across his abdomen. His wrists were strapped down, his thighs, his lower legs. He could wriggle his feet. And he did, back and forth constantly, for no good reason at all. But he froze when he saw the needle.

"Oh, no. No. You are _not_ going to use that." His speech quickened as it was ignored. "You don't have to do this, really, I mean there isn't anything at all interesting about me that you need to know. There isn't anything you need to know period, unless, ohgod, you're going to turn me into one of you, aren't you? That's what they do on that damn show, they turn people into monsters a lot of the time, except then they're usually. . .scratch that. Look, I'd make a lousy. . .whatever you are. Really. Sheppard's no better. Now I can tell you about this race we encountered that would definitely suit your purpose, they could use a face-lift. . ." his eyes widened as the needle poked his skin, a needle the size of a fountain pen. It pushed in, blood swelled out, and despite all efforts, he screamed. . .

. . .and John heard it like he was in the next room. "Rodney?" he yelled, as though the man could hear him, but why not? For all he knew his friend really was in the next room, it sure sounded like it. His wrists were raw, but he could tell his bonds were loosening. Son of bitch. Why McKay? What did these people want, an exposition on twenty-five ways to become a supreme asshole? Did they figure total arrogance was the way to advance their race? What else did Rodney have to offer them? "Rodney, dammit, you better be okay in there! You hear me? Cause I'd hate to have to kill you myself!" Of course there was no answer. He wasn't really expecting one.

The scream ended abruptly. John looked at the door, panicked. Rodney making noise assured John that he was alive. A sudden lack of noise was not a good sign. McKay always made noise, even in his sleep, and some of those noises weren't pleasant at all. "McKay! Can you hear me in there? Rodney?" He yanked at his bonds again, twisting his wrists and ignoring the pain.

He wasn't a sadist. He knew that. He didn't like seeing people injured, or upset, or scared, even those he'd just met or hadn't known for long. He had a sense of protecting their well-being, even if he didn't like them. Just as long as they left him alone otherwise, he was fine.

He had thought Rodney would be one of those types, ever since he first met him and was overwhelmed by his arrogance and total disregard for the feelings of others. He was surprised to find he held a grudging respect for the man, a feeling which turned into admiration. Not that he'd admit it. Hell no. But it surprised him.

Rodney was always prone to panic, was the worst kind of hypochondriac, and was incredibly full of himself. It was this last trait that pulled John to him. It was that trait that pulled many to him. He exuded a kind of self-confidence that others fed upon, and tried to take for themselves. Sure, he was a pain in the ass, but who wouldn't give their right leg for the self-assuredness that the great Rodney McKay demonstrated on a regular basis? It was the lack of bravado in that scream that alarmed John. It was the fact that it suddenly cut off that unnerved him. And it was the fact that it was happening to a friend that terrified him.

"McKay?" he tried again, "answer me!" John yanked on the ropes as hard as he possibly could, and was rather pleased to feel them give slightly. He winced against the pain, feeling the blood drip over his worn skin. He clenched his teeth and continued to twist and pull, working the ropes over and over his abused flesh, keeping his grunts and groans silent. He wondered just how large the facility was that housed them. If Rodney was indeed in the next room, it must be small. Unless they wanted to use Rodney's screams against him. But for what? There was nothing to exchange, no reason for this, nothing other than pure curiosity. He fought the sudden picture of Rodney impaled and turning slowly on a spit over an open fire, while the rubbish-creatures looked on. That thought actually did fit the scream he heard. He renewed his efforts once more, and was surprised to feel the rope give.

No way. No freakin' way.

He flung them aside and stood, fighting a head rush, then hurried to the door. Basic looking lock. He studied the door, feeling the center and the places where it joined, then nodded. He backed away, squared his shoulder perpendicular to the frame, and ran at it, landing in the hall on top of it.

The commotion brought no one. John remained frozen, his breathing rapid, but no one came. Okay, this was too strange. He stood and brushed off his pants, staggering toward the direction of the scream. There was another door, and it was locked, of course. But John managed to bust that one down as well (no freakin' way), and the sight before him chilled him. He ran to the table. "McKay?" John pulled at the restraints, trying not to notice a small jar which held a red fluid. "McKay. Come on, wake up." John patted his face roughly, then returned to examining the straps. The doors were easy. These weren't. A groan brought him upright. "Rodney! Say something, huh?"

Rondey opened his eyes. "What. . ."

"You fainted."

"Liar." He tried to sit up without thinking, and glanced down at the straps, the looked at John. "How did you get out?" His voice was slurred.

"How much blood did they take?" John was underneath the table, looking for a catch to release the straps.

"Dunno. Huge-ass needle though. Carson'll want one. Big as a straw." He noticed the bandage on his arm, and winced. "How did you get out?"

"That image does nothing to comfort me." John sighed and stopped his attempts to assess the situation.

"Not vampires. Might as well be though." Rodney's head turned, and his eyes slid closed.

"Uh-uh, no way! Stay with me." John patted his cheeks roughly until the eyes opened. He looked around the room and found a small piece of metal with a rough edge. Barely inserting it beneath the strap across Rodney's left wrist, he began to saw carefully.

"Damn alien experiment," Rodney slurred. "Thought that only happened on tv."

"What were they doing?"

"We're in a glass jar. They're curious. How did you get out?"

"Will you stop that?" He gave a tug, and resumed sawing. "They couldn't just ask us questions? Besides, what about those two goons that came in our room?"

"Different species."

"How do you know?"

"Fangs when they smile."

"Okay, that would be different." He continued to saw, watching as Rodney became more aware of his surroundings. He was very pale, and John had his doubts as to whether the man could walk, should he be able to release him. The metal slid to the side, and John cursed.

Rodney made fists and tried to raise his arms. "Look, could you just . . ." he realized he had no helpful ideas, and gave an aggravated sigh. "Seems I'm not meant to move about on this planet. Everyone has it in for me, including you!"

"I'd shoot it if I could."

"And risk hitting me?"

"Then I'd only have to worry about getting one of us out here."

"Funny." Both men froze as a strange wheezing noise could be heard. "Come on," Rodney muttered quickly, his lethargy switching to sluggish but frantic motion. "Come on, come on, come on . . ."

"Working on it!" John had time to give a strap a useless tug before the door opened.

The thing that entered looked nothing like the batting creature, nor was it human. It seemed to be of a different species entirely, but that didn't make it any less difficult to identify. John fought his urge to back away around the table, and instead planted himself firmly between the thing and Rodney.

Rodney was still working his hands, opening and closing his fists as if the action would free him. "Bad sci-fi movie," he muttered, "bad, bad sci-fi movie . . ."

"Shh."

The creature . . .waddled . . .sort of . . .towards them and held out an appendage. "There is no need to be afraid," it said in an unexpectedly bubbly voice, "We are not here to harm you." The voice was monotone, yet held a strange characteristic of laughter, like it was withholding a joke.

"No?" Rodney squeaked. "You're not the one strapped to a table, thank you!"

"And missing blood at that," John added. Anger prompted him to take a step forward. "Just what are you doing here?"

"I am talking with you."

"No, I mean why is he here," John pointed to Rodney, "and that there," he pointed to the blood. "I'm pretty sure that's supposed to stay in my friend and not on your table!"

"I see. We are conducting an experiment." The creature shifted towards John, prodding him with the appendage. "We have never seen your kind before! We have so much to learn!" The creature's voice was shrill with excitement. "You will be documented and then licensed . . ."

"Ho-ho-hold it, wait a minute. Licensed?"

The creature tilted its head . . .sort of. "Of course. You can't be sold for a good price unless you are licensed."

"Oh wonderful," Rodney groaned from the table.

John took another step forward, his eyes narrow in disbelief. "Wait, sold? We're not being sold to anyone!"

"But the university . . ."

"University be damned!"

"But. . ." the thing looked from John to Rodney, "you would deprive me of my research, of my proof . . ."

"You bet your ass . . thing." He winced, and jerked his head back towards Rodney. "Now let him go."

"No." The creature shuffled backwards. "I will not let you destroy everything I've worked for."

"And I won't let you keep us prisoner here!"

"You have no choice. My work must be completed." And with that the creature turned and walked out, or as close as possible, seeing as how there was no discernable front or back side. It could have walked out backwards for all John knew.

"Get me out of here. Now." Rodney's low voice booked no argument, and John wasn't about to try and give him one. He picked up the metal and continued sawing.

"No, no good," Rodney said, "trying pushing buttons or something."

"Are you crazy?"

"I'm not the one trying to saw through iron with a tin can!"

John looked at the flimsy metal and threw it aside. "How did we get from trading on a world to walking into a monster of the week flick?"

Rodney was tugging at his restraints with everything he had. "Makes sense. The locals trade in people, these Doctor Who knock-offs camp out and claim any species they haven't seen yet. No wonder Alistar didn't want to come here!"

"Okay, call me crazy, but we aren't the only humans here!"

"Ah, close, but no cigar. Think of it like a bug collection. Lots of various species of beetle, for example, but subspecies within."

"So we're a human subspecies?"

Rodney snorted. "Well, obviously!" He raised his head and shot John an annoyed look. "You care to press a button anytime soon?"

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah." John waved a finger over the controls at the base of the platform, and looked up uncertainly. "Ready?"

"No. Do it."

He pressed the large red button.

The table launched vertically, nearly giving Rodney whiplash when it stopped. He shrieked loudly as the restraints retracted and dumped him to the floor.

John was at his side in an instant, helping him sit up, supporting him as he fought the dizziness. Rodney winced and blinked, and looked at John. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"I'm still pissed at you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." John hauled Rodney to his feet, wondering how much blood he had lost.

"I mean, seriously. This is all your fault."

"Uh-huh. Let's go." He hesitated. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk!" The fact that he was about thirty degrees sideways mattered little.

"Then let's go!"

"Lorne's here."

John looked at the door. "What?"

Rodney held a hand to his aching head. "He's here, his team were sent here as samples."

"Of our race. That was the sale."

"We have to stage a-a rescue . . ."

"Well of course we have to stage a rescue! You know where he is?"

"No."

John sighed and held onto Rodney as he re-acclimated. "Oh, great. Make things simple, why don't ya?"


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, finding Lorne was yet another thing that should have been complicated, yet turned out to be absurdly simple. It should have had something to do with the fact that the huge fortress was actually not so huge after all. But in reality, or as close as it could get, all he had to do was follow the arrows, and read the sign that said "this way" on the wall, signs that it seemed only he could see. He just knew where to go, which way to turn. He was led to a large set of wooden doors held up by a mystery of engineering, because there was no way the scant walls could support something that looked so heavy.

John had a wild hair, and knocked on the door. "Lorne!"

"Colonel Sheppard? That you?"

John glanced over his shoulder at Rodney. The voice was hesitant, and oddly . . .odd. "You sure that's him in there?" Rodney whispered.

"It better be." John tried the door knob, knowing it wouldn't open. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah. I wandered in and the door locked behind me. Other than that, sure."

"Could be a tra-ap," Rodney muttered in a sing-song fashion.

John exhaled sharply as he thought. "Lorne, what's the capital of New Hampshire?"

There was a pause. "Are you serious?"

"Well?"

"Concord."

"And you know this, how?"

"I grew up there, dude! What is this?"

Rodney was examining the door, and found a small metal plate with a hole in it. He looked up at John in apprehension at the word, 'dude', and quickly rummaged in his vest until he found a small metal tool, then inserted it into the lock.

John leaned over him as he worked. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"When you've been locked into as many places as I have," Rodney muttered, "you learn tricks." He scowled at the stubborn lock, and gave it another go. There was a satisfying click, and the handle turned. John had his hand on the doorknob almost before Rodney could stand.

He entered, and stopped instantly, jerking Rodney back to him. "Whoa, wait!" He caught his breath. "This could be a problem." The trees in the room were lush, full of leaves that were as green as the emerald isle. They were also growing from the ceiling, downwards to the cloud-dotted sky.

Rodney swallowed heavily and looked down, expecting to see the toes of his shoes stretched out over oblivion. He rocked forward slightly, cautiously, and realized that there was actually a solid substance there.

"Finally. Beginning to wonder if anyone would get me outta here." Lorne was walking to them, on the sky.

Rodney swallowed again.

Lorne caught the pale expression, and managed a smile. "It's a painting." He flung out his arms and gave a single spin. "All of it. Very realistic, isn't it? Scared the crap out of me when I ran in here, I thought I was falling up."

"This place is seriously freaking me out. Why have this?" John asked. He was torn between studying the odd room and making certain his soldier was in one piece. To be honest, the odd room was winning out.

"No clue. Didn't ask. Don't care." Lorne pushed past them and glanced up and down the hall.

"Where's the rest of your team?" Rodney asked, once he could tear his sight away from the room. He focused his attention on the man who was studying the halls as though looking for a treasure. Or a bomb.

"Don't know. Last I remember I was strapped to a table, then I remember something setting me free and telling me to run for it."

"Some – _thing_?"

Lorne's eyes darted up and down the hall. Figuratively, of course. "Yeah. Looked like a rubber suit with legs, man. Never want to see it again."

"When you were on the table," Rodney asked cautiously, not liking the odd cadence of Lorne's speech, "did they inject you with anything, a drug? You know, like 'surfer-dude-amine'?"

Lorne turned wild eyes to him. "No. Why?"

John sighed and took him by the arm. "You were probably out for the count."

"No! Really! They put me through these test. Really weird ones, seeing how I reacted to extreme heat and cold and darkness and light. One time they even put a weight on my chest to see how my skeleton would react to extreme gravitational p-pressure." His hands were shaking, his eyes roamed over the halls and his companions and never stayed still.

"Okay, look. Focus." John snapped him around. "Can you find your way back?"

"I don't know."

"Try." He gave the poor soldier a shove and rolled his eyes at Rodney. "Piece of cake, huh?"

Rodney merely raised his chin defiantly.

"Gravitational _pressure_?"

Rodney's haughty demeanor faded. "Oh please, don't ask. Because if I try to think right now, my brain will explode."

John made a face and walked on.

And that was when the alarm sounded.

It didn't really sound so much as basically alert in a subtle, polite way. All three men suddenly felt as though the very walls has eyes, and were whispering to each other, passing a message down to where whoever was waiting for them, was waiting. The men actually huddled together, walking quickly in a lump down the main corridor as the walls watched and reported on their progress.

"This is very surreal," Rodney complained. He tripped over Lorne's boot and braced himself against the wall to keep from falling.

"Watch it," a voice said, and he screamed out.

John snatched Rodney back to the middle of the hallway, squinting at the wall in disbelief. There was no way it had eyes. No, it was a shadow. But there was nothing in the hall to throw shadows, other than themselves, and they weren't throwing any . . .aw hell.

"Did-did you just say something?" Rodney practically squeaked.

"I said, watch it! Greasy human hands." The wall sulked.

Rodney just panted in confusion. "I've got to get out of here."

"No, wait." John stepped forward, leaning toward the surface. "There's a faint sheen here. This wall is a monitor." He glanced around. "They all are."

"Oh thank god." Rodney clutched his chest in relief.

"Not really. We're still being watched."

"Indeed," the wall said, then spat out violently, "Corridor 69 heading to the east rim! I repeat, corridor . . ."

They took to their heels.

The funniest thing was, there was no one to stop them. No bodies hurling themselves in their path, no trap doors, nothing to prevent them from going anywhere. Well, nothing except that they couldn't seem to find an exit.

"Wait!" John yelled, pulling the other two men to a halt. "What are we doing? We still have to find your team." He looked pointedly at Lorne.

"Leave them."

"What?"

"I said leave them!"

"Are you insane?"

"You're seriously asking that?" Rodney questioned, looking at the man's wild eyes.

John paused for a moment, staring Lorne down. And he suddenly understood, and his features softened.

Rodney saw the change. "What? What is it . . .oh." His features fell slack with understanding.

"They can't be rescued, can they?" John asked quietly.

"The gravitational pressure. They . . ."

"I get it."

"They were crushed."

"I said I get it."

"They . . ."

"Lorne!" John grabbed the man by the shoulders and gave him a hard shake. "Let it go. Let's get out of here, okay?"

It was cruel, telling someone to just let go, to forget watching his teammates die a slow, agonizing death. "Suffocated," Lorne muttered, his head down. He started down the hall, slowly.

John and Rodney looked at each other. "I thought they did something to him," Rodney said.

"They did. The bastards measured his capacity for grief." John's face was stone, and he followed the soldier.

It was inevitable that they would take a wrong turn. By avoiding the seeing walls, they played right into their . . .structure. The room they entered was small, with one door leading out. At least it would have, were it not locked. And of course the door they entered through had locked behind them.

Rodney paced the small room, no better than nine by nine feet. A closet. No way out, no windows, precious little air . . ."Wide open fields, wide open fields . . ."

"Not helpful, Rodney." John was pressing at the door.

"So you say! Wide open fields. . ."

"Rodney!"

"Can I help it if a repetitive litany is the only thing keeping these walls from closing in?"

"Rodney . . ." John was looking up and around. He backed away from the door.

"Well, can I?"

"The walls . . ."

Rodney picked up on his panic, and saw Lorne's eyes widen. "No. Oh no. These walls are NOT closing in!" He pointed a commanding finger at the threat. "YOU WILL NOT CLOSE IN!"

They continued to close in.

"Rodney, do something!"

"Like what?" he shrieked.

"Open the damn door!"

"With what?"

"PICK THE DAMN LOCK!"

"Right." Rodney hurried over to the door, only to have the rapidly closing wall push him sideways out of the way. They were closing in, fast.

"We're supposed to have time to get out, damn it!" John yelled angrily at no one, bracing the walls ineffectually with his hands. His elbows buckled.

"WIDE OPEN FIELDS!" Rodney screamed at the top of his lungs.

And the bottom fell out.

They landed with a collective thump. Dust rose around them in billows.

"Oh," Rodney said, and rolled over in relief as the ceiling closed above them.

John coughed, trying to breathe deeply. He checked on Rodney by merely putting his hand on the man's back in a reassuring way. Rodney lifted a hand in reply, not saying anything. John pushed up onto his elbows, and froze. "Uh, Lorne?"

Lorne was struggling to sit up. "Ah, god! Yeah?"

"Remember when you said that some_thing_ set you free?"

"Yeah."

"Would that be it over there?"

Lorne rolled to his elbows and craned his head to look. "Huh. Yeah. That's it."

"What is, holycrap." Rodney redefined the fine art of ass-scooting as he scrambled to the opposite wall away from the creature.

The creature was formless. Truly. It changed constantly from something to something else, never pausing long enough for anyone to establish that there was anything there in the first place. Disconcerting wasn't the word for it. Dizzying was closer.

Nauseating was probably the best description.

John's stomach turned as he tried to look at the creature. It was like riding a rollercoaster backwards through a reverse tunnel opposite the theory of relativity. Or like a plummeting elevator. "What are you?" he asked, forcing the words out over stomach bile.

"I am that I am," the creature said.

Rodney panted against his own sickness. "Now I know why I never went to church. No way I could read enough text to prepare myself for this."

John waved the comment down. "What species?"

"I exist. Therefore I am."

Rodney snapped his fingers. "Descartes. I'll be damned. The Buddhists had it right after all!"

"Will you stop? This thing is NOT the reincarnation of Descartes."

"Prove it!"

John stared at him, incredulous, and turned back to the . . .thing.

It merely congealed, then rearranged itself.

He decided to take another approach. "What do you want with us?"

"I want to know that you are, what you are."

"This is getting us nowhere," Rodney hissed.

John waved him silent. "Are you the reason we're all here? Do you . . .oversee the experiments?"

"All is being, and all being is overseen."

"Okay, that doesn't make sense." John finally conceded.

"Apparently when it re-booted itself it forgot the brain."

"Can it, McKay."

Lorne cocked his head thoughtfully, and walked up to the creature before John could pull him back. "You came for me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I did not wish to see you perish."

"But you let my friends die."

"It serves us well."

"Excuse me?" Rodney exclaimed.

"Your trial here is complete. I have learned much. You may return, unfortunately you are not worth fooling with."

John gaped. "Not worth . . .fooling with? This from 'I am that I am?'"

"You have not understood. You are inferior and will neither advance our cause, nor will you prove valuable in the way of trade. You may go."

John stared in disbelief. No way this all came down to . . .this. "You killed three of my men!"

"You may go."

John jabbed a finger toward Rodney. "You experimented on my team mate!"

"Come on, do as the nice ball of snot says," Rodney groused, as the form turned milky white with rage.

"YOU. MAY. GO."

"Going." John grabbed Lorne by his collar and pulled him out of the door that suddenly appeared.

And they found themselves outside.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alistar was waiting for them in the pub below their rooms. He waved the barkeep over. Three wooden mugs were slammed onto the table as John, Rodney and Lorne joined him.

Rodney said nothing. He upended the brew and retired to a corner to choke.

John just sat and stared at Alistar

Alistar squirmed under the stare, and hid in his brew.

"What war?" John asked angrily.

"What?"

"You said Lorne and his men were being held for possible inclusion in a war. What war?"

Alistar sniffed and nodded in the direction of the hill. "Theirs."

"How so?"

"They live on what basically amounts to a gas giant. Very little solid substance. Still, it is being taken over, and they need recruits. But it is hard to find those who can survive the environment, even after the transformation."

"Transformation?"

"They have to find creatures that are adaptable enough to survive the transformation process. Your species was heard of, the evolutionary process you went through is legendary." He took a long swig of his brew and belched. "From primordial ooze to what you are now. No reason you couldn't revert, but unfortunately you are not compatible, which isn't saying much."

"That's impossible," Rodney sulked as he took a seat on the stool beside John. He thought back through the bizzarre events, and shook his head. "What the hell am I talking about?"

"So these experiments are for finding soldiers?" John asked.

"They are for finding the ultimate soldier. The one life form that can withstand the conditions of the gas giant and operate in a proficient manner."

"This place gives me a headache," Rodney muttered acidly.

"And," John glance at his friend and jerked a thumb at him, "they tested _Rodney_ for this?"

"Apparently you were too thin."

Rodney snorted into his mug.

Alistar grinned. "You were the seller. YOU told the guard at the gate that _he_ was worth something, that he had special knowledge. Unfortunately when scanned, this knowledge turned out to be useless to them."

"I see. Wait a minute," John frown and stood slowly, "how do you know so much?"

Alistar smiled, and turned into the batting creature.

John backed away, feeling Rodney right at his back, and knew that Lorne was at Rodney's. "I see," he said again, this time very slowly.

"We have agents all over the planet," said not-Alistar. "We recruit from all corners."

"I see."

Not-Alistar would have raised his eyebrows in amusement if he had any.

"Well," John clapped his hands together, "you don't need us, we sure as hell don't need you, we should be on our way then."

Not-Alistar gave a nearly acceptable nod.

"Fine. Rodney, make sure there's nothing left upstairs and square us away, huh? It's time we left this place."

"About damn time," Rodney sighed, and trudged up the stairs.

John gave a nod. "Well, good luck with your war. I think."

"We will be successful," Alistar said.

"I'm sure you will be." The comment wasn't quite cold. Rodney came back down, talked briefly to the owner, and rejoined them.

John nodded. "We should be able to just walk out of here, right?"

"I can guarantee it." Alistar raised his mug with an appendage.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The jumper was where they left it, and if possible, covered with even more sand. Lorne was doing his best to scoop and scrape the front of the craft free as Rodney worked on it from the inside. "Sand in the joints, in cracks, and in places sand should never logically be able to travel. And the jumper isn't so hot either." Rodney grunted and looked up at John from his position on the floor. "You okay?"

"Not really."

There was a pause. "It's about Lorne's men, isn't it?"

"Can you honestly think of a more worthless way to die?"

Rodney didn't have an answer to that. He continued his work. "Some rescue mission."

"I don't know. It worked."

"How so?"

"All we said was, we needed to rescue Lorne. Not his team. We said we needed to _find_ them."

Rodney paused. "Maybe we should be more careful what we say in the future."

"I agree."

"Cause no telling what may happen, especially on a cocked-up world like this one."

"Yep."

Lorne came in, covered head to toe with grit. "I'm ready when you are."

John nodded and swiveled in his seat. "Let's blow this joint."

"Not enough weapon capability," Rodney said.

"Rodney . . ."


End file.
